


Perchance to Dream

by FantasyBard



Series: Sand and Storm, Destiny and Choice [2]
Category: Aladdin (2019)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, He's got a few issues, Hurt/Comfort, Well it's Jafar. You were expecting something different?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-25 16:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20727542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyBard/pseuds/FantasyBard
Summary: Jafar is the type of man that inspires nightmares in other people. It would be utterly laughable for anyone to think he could possibly have nightmares himself.His wife knows differently. Samira starts to awaken to Jafar having horrific nightmares. Some things in the past are impossible to escape. For Jafar, his life holds scars that still fester.





	Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Me (as I am in the process of creating an entire series revolving around Jafar from the 2019 movie): I think I'll write a quick one shot to keep myself entertained.  
Me (11 pages, 5,000 words and several drafts later): Well, that kind of escalated quickly.
> 
> So, hello. Like a few creators on this website, I fell in love with the new Aladdin live action remake, and particularly the character of Jafar. I shall not go into the many reasons why this iteration of Jafar was awesome, I'm sure if you're reading this, you're already well aware of that. 
> 
> A few things about this story. Though a one shot, it is part of a much larger universe that I am in the process of attempting to write. This is an Alternative Universe, and this particular one-shot takes place after the events of the movie. I don't want to give anything to major away, but let me just say that this version of the story doesn't end with Jafar turning into a genie and getting stuck in a lamp. That should give you an idea of what type of AU this is.
> 
> In this AU, Jafar isn't the villain, but that doesn't mean he's the hero. Let's just say he's perfectly okay with doing some morally questionable things if he thinks they'll further his goals, but the goals themselves aren't quite so psychopathic. In the meantime, this little fic is my humble attempt to add to the number of Jafar/OC fics on this site. I hope that you will enjoy it.

Perchance to Dream:

Samira had always been a light sleeper. Whether it was a side effect of the magic she had been born with or the natural protective instincts of an older sister, she had always slept with an eye open to the shadows and an even closer ear to the ground. 

As the years past, it soon became clear to Samira that the last thing Jasmine that needed was yet another person hovering over her. Still, old habits die hard, and having conditioned herself to be aware of anything that might stir her, she just came to accept that sleeping might never be one of her great strengths. 

However, if there was perhaps one person who had more difficulty getting a good night's sleep than the elder Princess of Agrabah, it was the man she had been married to for the last three months. 

Jafar, the Grand Vizier of Agrabah, a man who seemed to be in complete control of everything, from the political to the arcane. Some called him twisted, cruel, power-hungry. He could be all of these descriptors to a certain degree. To Samira, he was a perfectionist, hopelessly stubborn, and had very little idea on how to take care of his own well-being. 

This didn’t come as a particular surprise to her. Most sorcerers with drew their power from storms had the personality trait of being intrinsically difficult to deal with. Jafar had apparently decided at some point that he needed to be the best in this particular idiosyncrasy, as well. 

Fortunately, Samira was just stubborn as Jafar, which was probably why they were so ideally suited. She had stood up against dozens of people who deeply mistrusted magic of any kind, let alone the wild and unpredictable magic she possessed. Ironically, clashing with Jafar was the least of her challenges. 

This was made abundantly clear one night when she narrowly avoided being struck by a fireball from Jafar’s staff when she came into the rooms which she now shared with him, located in the spire which towered over the palace and sea side. She only avoided getting hit because he dispersed the spell before it could gain it’s full power, yet his irritation at even having to do that much was evident.

“Samira, do you not think you could give me a word of warning?” Jafar hissed out. 

“Forgive me.” said Samira, “I was under the impression that being being married meant that we could do away with such formalities. What else shall we resurrect from the last few years? I suppose I could start calling you Vizier again, though I would find it quite awkward if you only referred to me as Princess.”

“Just… try to let me know you’re coming up next time. I don’t want to burn you to a cinder thinking you were an intruder.”

Samira would have replied to this with the biting comment that an intruder couldn’t possibly have made it this far up the tower without him being aware of it, until she noticed that Jafar didn’t look like himself. It would have been difficult for anyone else to see; even without his ornate robes and turban, he still seemed to be immaculate in appearance. Samira, however, could clearly see that his eyes looked slightly bloodshot and unfocused, and he was leaning against his desk as though trying to keep himself upright. 

Most telling of all was the visible aura of his sorcery, normally a carefully controlled, perfectly balanced storm of flashing lightning, grey storm clouds, distant rolling thunder and soaking rain. Such auras were only produced by those who could produce magic, and were unique to each person. However, Jafar seemed to be having difficulty even conjuring any element of the storm into being beyond a roiling mass of uneven cloud.

“Jafar, when was the last time you actually slept?” Samira demanded. 

Jafar opened his mouth to reply, no doubt planning to give an entirely satisfactory answer that would have been something close to the truth. However, Iago’s squawking voice from the window cut off his attempt. “Three days!” 

Immediately, Jafar beamed an annoyed glare at his familiar. Iago was supposedly meant to obey his Master without question. However, having first been summoned by Jafar in the form of a parrot, he possessed all of the intelligence and belligerence for which his species was famous. Thusly, over the years he had proven to side as much with Samira as with Jafar. In certain areas, Samira had learned to listen to the parrot than the vizier. 

“Three days? Is that normal?” She directed the question more towards Iago than Jafar, a fact that wasn’t lost on her husband. 

Iago bobbed his head enthusiastically. Jafar snarled something incoherent, and a moment later a bolt of lightning had been loosed from his fingertips in the direction of the parrot. Iago saw it coming and flapped upwards into the ceiling rafters to avoid getting hit. 

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re learning to accept criticism in a mature manner.” Samira said, glaring at Jafar, who was breathing heavily and still had stray arcs of lightning dancing around his hand. “You normally have such perfect aim. You don’t think you missed because you might be a little bit tired?”

“What makes you think I didn’t miss on purpose?” said Jafar, hard eyes glancing up into the rafters of the tower as if to find out Iago once more. “I don’t keep you around so you can be an overprotective mother hen, Iago.”

Iago’s cackling laughter floated down to them. He was well beyond Jafar’s range, unless he wanted to blast a hole in the roof of his own living quarters, and both familiar and sorcerer knew it. 

Samira shook her head in exasperation. “With you and Iago, I don’t know what to think half the time. But you’re not avoiding this, Jafar. You’ll be of no help to anyone if you suddenly collapse because you have no idea how exhausted you are.”

Turning on his wife a hash glare, Jafar growled out, “Need I remind you that I have been operating quite well without your interference or that of anyone else for years. I haven’t heard any complaints from anyone regarding the performance of my duties.”

Jafar was hardly at his most menacing, but this display of temper would still have been enough to send most of the servants, soldiers and courtiers scurrying from his presence with bowed heads and hurried apologies. Samira wasn’t so easily scared. If anything, she was only more irritated. 

Samira’s aura comprised an ever changing tapestry of threads which burned like fire, each thread flashing with an intense color. It was from these threads that she weaved her own spells and enchantments. Just like Jafar, however, her magic could visibly change with sudden changes in her mood. In the face of Jafar’s continued resistance, the threads began to flash. Jafar would not have been able to miss it, and he knew better than to ignore it. 

“Jafar, if you don’t get some sleep tonight, I swear by all the gods that I’ll lace your food and drink with enough sedatives to ensure that you pass out at the next Council meeting, which I’m sure would put a dent in that fearsome reputation you’ve worked so hard to establish over the years.”

If people managed to stand up to Jafar long enough to attempt to get the words of a threat out, they would have singularly failed to make it sound even the least bit convincing. However, he was also wise enough to know that not only did Samira mean every word of what she had just said, she would carry it out to the letter. Therefore, he did something which he did with hardly anyone else: he obeyed. 

“Fine, fine.” He muttered, as he started to move off towards the bedroom, “Just don’t expect me to forget about this anytime soon.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m trembling inside, Vizier.” 

Of course, Jafar had been better for it in the morning. Not that he ever would have admitted it, nor would he have admitted that he was actually grateful to have someone he could trust looking out for him. Of course, Samira hadn’t been prepared for the fact that the biggest Jafar faced came from himself.

Then, the nightmares started.

They started small. Samira would find herself awakened by the sound of Jafar screaming beside her, his limbs jerking and failing as if trying to run from some unseen terror. 

Other times, he was the one who woke up first. Samira would wake up to be confronted with Jafar’s entire body bathed in ice cold sweat, eyes wide and unfocused. It often took her several repetitions of his name before he seemed to realize that he wasn’t dreaming anymore. 

He was always trembling, his hands moving almost unconsciously across the scars which criss-crossed his skin. He would be muttering under his breath, whispering in broken phrases and thoughts in the language which was spoken in Shirabad. His eyes seemed to dart around the shadows of the room, as if expecting something to materialize out of nowhere to strike him. Several times, he would begin reciting the opening words or hand gestures of a spell, thinking that he still needed to defend himself from whatever his nightmares had made him see. 

She tried to help him, but in the aftermath of those first nightmares, the storm obscured the depths of his pain from her. He would give her some tepid words of reassurance before turning away from her and falling back into a sleep which was hardly ever restful. 

She tried not to be hurt. He wasn’t shutting her out because he didn’t trust her. Jafar had only survived everything he had been through because he was so good at concealing his true feelings. Deception was more than just a useful skill in furthering his own ends, it was his defense against the people which would have otherwise destroyed him.

It was a habit that he had relied upon for tolong. It wasn’t something he could simply break. She could push Jafar on many things. She could not talk about this, not until the moment was right. She was going to have to be patient, however hard that was for her to be. 

The dreams seemed to ebb and flow in the next few weeks. They sometimes seemed to vanish altogether, and Jafar would be his usual self, scheming and cunning, intelligent and wise, loving and caring to her alone. The fascinating complexities of the man she loved. 

But the dreams never fully went away, and Samira couldn’t help but feel that what she had witnessed so far was only a precursor to something much worse. She had never been more upset to find herself proven right.

It wasn’t the movement which made her wake up that night. It was rather the absence of anything but silence and stillness. Jafar wasn’t screaming, nor was he moving. A deathly stillness had settled over his entire body. He was barely breathing and his skin was pale. Her best efforts couldn’t even wake him, and for just a moment, she wondered if somehow Jafar’s subconscious had finally won out against him. 

Jafar came awake with a bone-jarring jolt, tears streaming down his face, and an indescribable expression on his face that somehow seemed to convey the darkest depths of rage, heartbreak and despair. He normally kept such a tight control over his emotions, mastering them in the storm of his magic. But, now that storm was on the brink of raging out of control, and taking her husband with it.

He knew at once she had seen everything. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He shied away from the hands that tried to wipe the tears from his face and the arms that wanted so desperately to hold him, to weave the bright threads of her own magic around his mind to burn the nightmares away. 

“I’m sorry.” She heard him whisper, ragged and exhaustion, “I’m sorry, Samira. I just… can’t.” Without another word or glance in her direction, he had pushed himself away from her and raced out of the room. 

He hadn’t come back the past two nights, and though in the light of day he showed no signs that there was anything amiss between the two of them, he still kept his distance from her, as if fearing to show any signs of weakness. In the meantime, Samira was a hopeless tangle of confusion and worry. She had no idea how long this would continue, but she also got the feeling that this was not an isolated incident. Jafar had to many mental defenses up to hide his torment for this to be something which had just started. 

She tossed and turned for the first hours of the night, trying to come to a clear decision if this was the moment to confront Jafar on what was going on. The last thing she wanted to do was push him, but if this state of affairs continued, it would only hurt them both in the long run. 

She had been prepared for many things when she married Jafar. She hadn’t been prepared for choices like this. She finally decided that she would have to take a risk. She got up from the bed, and put on her robe. The rooms of the tower were quiet. Even the study, where Jafar normally could be found when he wasn’t in throes of nightmarish insomnia, was dark and deserted. The only living thing present was her hyena Laviza, who had claimed the best spot in front of the fireplace almost as soon as she had moved into the tower. 

She stirred, and looked up questioningly at her mistress’ unexpected entrance. “Hey, Laviza,” said Samira, as she came over and stroked her fur. She reached into the web of her magic, weaving together a few strands of brown and black threads, forming a connection with her animal companion. “Has Jafar come back late every night?”

Laviza replied, though not in words any human would have deciphered as a language, but with the guttural, yet oddly high-pitched chirps and growls customary of her species. Yes, he came back hours after the sun had set. Always smelling of exhaustion and… longing. Was that the right word in the human sense? Laviza wasn’t entirely sure, but he always paused and stared at the bedroom door where her mistress was sleeping whenever he came back. The hyena believed that he missed her. 

“Where is he sleeping if he doesn’t come to me?”

Laviza got to her feet and pointed her snout towards the farthest, highest balcony in the tower, the one which stood directly above the ocean. Where else would was she expecting him to be? He smelled of salt water and the storms which formed above it. It was the most logical place. 

Samira probably should have guessed that. She rubbed Laviza on the head a few more seconds, before rising and walking over to the balcony that the hyena had indicated. It was a breathtaking view at any time. By day, the sunlight dappled the water, turning the sea into liquid gold, occasionally dotted by the sails of the numerous ships which came into Agrabah’s harbor. At night, the twin moons created an ever changing display of glowing colors. The silver orb of Valara’s light was prominent in the sky tonight, but just visible over the horizon was the violet globe of Shaddall. 

This balcony also gave the best view of the storms which could form over the oceans, which often hypnotized Jafar for hours on end. But, tonight he was sleeping on the stone floor. The moment she caught sight of him, she felt her own resolve slipping just a little. Jafar looked far more peaceful than he had in the last few days. She glanced back into the shadows of the study, wondering if this was indeed the best course of action.

Jafar stopped her from trying to make that choice. “Don’t go.” His voice was tired, though not so broken as she remembered it. Samira looked back, seeing that Jafar had raised himself up to a sitting position. The storm around him was quiet, contained as it always was when there was no need for him to call upon it. 

“I don’t want to disturb you, if you need the rest.” She said, though walking away was the last thing she wanted to do.

A sigh escaped Jafar’s lips, and he raised one hand in a motion for her to come closer. “It hardly matters at this point. There’s no use me trying to hide this from you any longer.” 

Samira started to walk up onto the more exposed part of the balcony. A breeze rippled through the air around her, and she caught herself shivering. “Aren’t you cold?” She asked, realizing how trite the question sounded considering the atmosphere.

A half smile appeared on Jafar’s face. “I leave you a few nights ago without so much as an explanation as to why, and the first thing you’re worried about is my personal comfort?”

“You’re right, you’re the one who has a tempest swirling around him at all hours of the day.” She went over the nearby braziers, tongues of fire appearing out of her hands. She placed her burning hand next to the coals, and orange flames started to cast dancing shadows upon the walls around them. 

“In that case, you probably need this more than I do.” Jafar made a slight motion with one hand, and one of blankets scattered across the room began to hover off the ground. It came towards her, and she reached out to wrap it around her shoulders. 

She came over to Jafar, sitting down in front of him. “You’ve been coming out here to sleep.” She said, knowing there was little point in dancing around the issue. “It doesn’t seem like it would be very… helpful in recovering from everything you’ve been going through.”

His dark eyes grew sober, and he leaned back against the pillar that was supporting the roof of the balcony. “I have to come out here when the dreams become to much.” He explained, “Sleeping in a bed only seems to make the nightmares become worse. I honestly don’t know why. Perhaps I can’t quite shake the remembrance of Shirabad’s slums. There was a certain measure of safety to be found in stone.” 

“You know when the nightmares are that bad?” Jafar nodded. “That means you must have had them in the past. Jafar, how long has this been going on?”

“Oh, let me think.” said Jafar, his voice dripping with dark sarcasm, “I distinctly remember the first nightmare occurring when I started living in the palace. So easily about ten years.”

Samira could hardly believe what she had just heard. Ten years he had been reliving the hell of his past, and never once had she even had a suspicion that he could be suffering so acutely. And if she hadn’t been able to see it, she was willing to believe that no one else had been able to either.

“You haven’t asked me the most obvious question.” Jafar said, his dark eyes boring into golden hued ones. “Aren’t you the least bit more curious what I’ve been dreaming about? You heard me screaming, saying things before my mind even knew I was awake.”

Samira could guess, but she was a little reluctant to say them. Jafar might have been calm, but he was still treading a very fine line between control and the intensity of his emotions. “If you’re body is finding comfort in something that reminds you of your childhood, however bad, the worst nightmares aren’t from the years you spent on the streets, are they?”

“Ironic, isn't it, that I should call those years of living hand to mouth and scraping together a living as the better part of my early life. It was an awful way to live that I would never want to return to. Yet, as I’m sure our new Prince Consort Aladdin will tell you, those hardships are common. Every street rat experiences them. There’s little point in allowing those experiences to rule my life now.”

“So, it’s what came after.” said Samira, after a moment of silence. “It’s the Chimera Conclave that you can’t escape from, isn’t it?"

The very mention of the Conclave made Jafar visibly flinch. The Chimera Conclave, Shirabad’s magical Conclave renowned throughout the lands, a place where anyone with magical talent could study. For many people it was a mark of pride to say that they or someone they knew had attended it’s hallowed halls. 

Jafar had been one of those students, and it’s what had truly broken him. The Conclave’s stellar reputation hid ugly truths: Masters abusing their position in order to achieve their own ends and torturing students who didn’t live up to their high expectations and calling it discipline. The Chimera Conclave had attempted to strip Jafar of his memories, his identity, his very soul. The fact that they had ultimately failed made little difference in the horrific physical and mental scars they had left behind, and which were still festering. 

“I still can’t believe I was foolish enough to believe that they were there to help me.” said Jafar, getting to his feet and starting to pace like a caged animal. “I grew up on the streets, I should have been able to read the deception in their eyes.”

“Jafar, they took advantage of you. You had just killed a man, and were about to be killed yourself. Would anyone, let alone a child who was only ten years old, have done anything differently?”

There was just the slightest pause in Jafar’s pacing at the reminder of the first life he had ever taken. A sharp, sarcastic laugh tore from his throat. “They were quite brilliant in a way, those two Masters who first found me, weren’t they? How long do you think they had been watching me from afar, just waiting for a moment that would break me before they swooped into to snap me up? They were probably in a position to help my mother, but they were only interested in me.”

It was easy for anyone to forget that the intimidating, seemingly heatless Grand Vizier had once been a boy, a boy who had loved his mother, Damaris. She had tried to give her son and daughter a better life, and had done everything she could to protect them from the worst that life on the streets could do. Jafar had seen her efforts rewarded by being brutally murdered by a drunken idiot who tried to take advantage of her. That man’s life had been the first jafar would ever take.

“That’s what you were dreaming about the other night?” Samira asked, knowing that Jafar considered his inability to save his mother as one of his greatest failures.

Despite the cooler wind blowing across the balcony, a sheen of sweat had started to appear on Jafar’s face, and it appeared that he was doing his very best to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. “She’s one of them, but she’s not the only one. I also dream about the night Leilah died. My mother, my sister, I see them die before my eyes, over and over again. They’re not just memories, I’m reliving it. And every time, the pain is just as intense. I can’t control the rage, but no matter how hard I try. I can’t reach Nadir to kill him. I become as helpless as I was that first night until my memories are taken from me.”

The confession itself wasn’t a surprise to Samira. Jafar had told her about his sister, Leilah. Along with his mother, she was one of the only bright spots he could name from his childhood. Her magical gifts hadn’t been as strong as Jafar’s, yet she had also been taken in by the Conclave the night of Damris’s death along with her brother. She had fallen in love with a boy at the Conclave. Nadir had also come from the streets. Jafar had thought he was his best friend. 

However, Nadir’s loyalties belonged to the Conclave. When Jafar and Leilah had finally come up with a plan to escape the Conclave, Jafar had tried to convince Nadir to go with them. Nadir had not only refused to go with them, he had betrayed their flight to the Master. When the Masters had decreed that one of the siblings would have to pay for their desertion, Nadir had killed Leilah without so much as a second of hesitation. 

The Masters of the Chimera Conclave were too clever to waste such potential as Jafar, and so they had wiped his memories, essentially recreating him in their own image. He had been their unquestioning soldier for the next five years of his life. He had finally regained his own senses, but the ten years he had spent under their influence were fragmented and inconsistent. He still wasn’t entirely sure of all the things the Conclave might have made him do.

These nightmares were reminders of the fact that he was still living with the consequences. The storm around him grew darker, slivers of lightening clawing up his arms, thunder growling like a caged beast. Jafar closed his eyes, hands clenched into fists as he fought against the memories which threatened to spiral out of his control. 

That was the risk of using magic born from storms: the storm could give strength and hide, it’s power could sweep away all opponents. However, if not controlled, it could overwhelm the user itself, until there was nothing left and the storm itself would die out. 

“I never wanted you to see me like this.” Jafar said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Like what?” said Samira, bracing herself for the answer she knew was coming. 

Jafar opened his eyes and turned to look directly at her. “Weak.” He held up a hand to forestall her inevitable objection. “I know, I know what you’re going to say: I’m not weak, I’m not a failure, I’m not…” He stopped, forcing himself to choke out the words despite the self-loathing they induced, “I’m not second best. I want to believe that. But these dreams, they practically scream my failures at me. For a long time, I had nothing to block them out save my own will power.”

Samira got to her feet. Going over to Jafar, she put her hands on his shoulders, letting her forehead rested against his. “What do you need?” She asked, quietly. 

Jafar looked down into her eyes, the anguish of several years flashing before her sight. She was half afraid that Jafar would say he didn’t need her help or that he didn’t deserve it, that he would turn away from her once more. But, having someone who was actually concerned seemed to have revealed to Jafar just how tired he was of trying to fight these battles alone. 

“Stay.” He finally said, his voice pleading, even if he knew she would never have turned him down. “Please, stay with me. I have no right to ask, I shouldn’t make you share these burdens with me, but-“

She cut him off by reaching up and pressing her lips against his. There was just the briefest moment where he froze, before he finally relaxed into her embrace. One hand came up to cradle her face, but the other wrapped tightly around her waist, locking her in place against him. He seemed afraid that she would vanish from him, his only anchor in a life that could still be so dark. 

When she pulled away, there was the barest hint of a smile on her face. “I was planning on staying out here with you. There’s not a lot you could have said that would make me change my mind.”

For the first time that night, Jafar’s expression softened with gratitude. “Whatever did I do to deserve you?”

“Nothing, but then you never had to deserve.” Stepping back a little from Jafar, she made a similar gesture to the one he had made earlier with the blanket, levitating a few of the pillows from the study beyond, and arranging them into the little pile beside where Jafar had been resting. “Now, if you don’t mind, I do have to get up early tomorrow. If you could try to keep your brooding quiet, it would be greatly appreciated.”

It was rare for anyone to get a genuine smile out of Jafar, save the cynical, cold smirk which revealed nothing but his contempt for lesser mortals. Samira wasn’t a lesser mortal, she was everything. “As in all things, my dear, I shall endeavour to obey as far as is within my power.” 

Samira pulled the blanket tighter around her, lying down on the floor and curling up as best she could. The cold, hard stone was hardly comfortable. She was fairly certain that she would have a backache the next morning. But, it was a small price to pay if it helped Jafar. 

A few hours later, Jafar’s restlessness finally began to settle, his natural need for sleep starting to outweigh the fear of what might come after he surrendered control of his subconscious mind. He settled down onto the familiar, comforting stone floor, only this time, the warmth of his wife beside him gave him a sense of hope that perhaps he wouldn’t have to let these nightmares be the only thing that could define him.

Without entirely waking up, Samira drowsily turned over and curled her body around him, resting her head on his chest. Without even thinking, he put his arm around her and drew her closer to him. He had never thought that when Samira married him that he would come to rely on her so greatly. At any other time, with any other person, that would have been an admission of weakness. Now, the woman sleeping in his arms and the connection they had managed to forage despite all the odds against them, was the greatest source of his strength. 

He knew the dreams would come back. He knew this would not be the last time this scene played out on this balcony. But, Samira would be there, that was enough. 

It was in the midst of these thoughts that Jafar would finally surrendered to sleep. He couldn’t remember if there were any dreams that night, which was something of an improvement. Perhaps if there were any dreams, they didn’t dwell in the shadows of a terrible past. Perhaps they had more to do with the promise of the future. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few more fun facts: 1) The idea of Agrabah having two moons was inspired by the song, "Arabian Nights" (Arabian nights, 'Neath Arabian moons. A fool off his guard could fall and fall hard, Out there on the dunes). They actually play a pretty prominent role in the over all mythology of Agrabah, but again, main story will touch on that. 2) Every main character in Aladdin has a really cool pet. I had to give Samira one to. One a side note, hyenas are awesome and deserve more love. 3) Though I am working on the main novel, I have at least two other one-shots in the works for this time line. I hope that you liked this little voyage enough to read those once they are up. 
> 
> Again, thanks for taking the time to read this fic.


End file.
